


My Mind Races with All My Longings

by capsicleonyourleft



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Purgatory, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsicleonyourleft/pseuds/capsicleonyourleft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Purgatory is where Castiel belongs. It's a fact he's accepted, an existence he's resigned himself to. When the edges of reality blur, it's the only truth he can cling to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Mind Races with All My Longings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saint_troll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saint_troll/gifts).



> For the prompt "Castiel is still broken (crazy) when Dean and Benny find him in purgatory." I'm not sure this is what you had in mind, ladybexodus, but I hope it is acceptable. I hope you had a lovely holiday season and wish you all the best in the new year!

The first time he sees him, Castiel had just narrowly escaped death. The figure stands tall and confident, his very presence menacing as it has ever been. Castiel, woozy from his injuries, can only stare and clutch his mangled bicep. It sends a painful shock through his system, but the figure in front of him remains. For a moment, he wonders if he’s managed to transport himself to a different dimension.

 

“Hello, brother,” the angel says with a curl of lips over his teeth. Castiel hasn’t seen him since the night he fixed Sam—it seems like ages ago, though in Purgatory he has no real sense of time. His voice, at least, is just as Castiel remembered it. If he never hears it again, it will be too soon. “It’s been too long. You never write, you never call. It can make a guy feel unloved, you know.”

 

“You’re not real,” says Castiel, more a reminder to himself than anything else. He closes his eyes and tries to will away the pain in his arm, but it only seems to amplify. The blood on his fingers feels thick and warm.

 

Lucifer waves a dismissive hand. “ _I think, therefore I am_ and all that jazz. Besides, that small of a detail hardly seems to matter, doesn’t it?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“He’s probably dead, you know,” Lucifer states, matter-of-fact, tone disinterested. “All because you left him to fend for himself. Kind of ironic, huh? You thought it would save him, but it’s the reason he’s dead.”

 

“Dean is a skilled, highly-trained hunter,” Castiel reasons. Dean is strong and capable, and Castiel _knows_ he can protect himself. He wouldn’t have left otherwise. In this land of monsters, Castiel is a shinning beacon, and Dean is safer with every added acre between them. “This was the only way I could protect him.”

 

“Mm,” Lucifer hums, inspecting his nails. “The hunter becomes the hunted. There’s almost…poetic justice to it, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Castiel’s jaw tenses, body running cold. “Shut up,” he orders through gritted teeth. 

 

“It’s funny, you know,” Lucifer dredges on. Castiel tries his best not to listen. “It’s when you try to protect him that you end up hurting him the most.”

 

Castiel clenches and unclenches his fist, trying to prevent his body from disclosing any information; it only serves as ammunition for Lucifer to fire with. “You know not what you speak of.”

 

“Don’t I?” Lucifer challenges, his expression smug. “You were trying to protect him when you followed Zachariah’s orders, when you made a deal with Crowley and when you swallowed all the souls in Purgatory, were you not? Or at least, that’s how you justified all those things. How did that work out for you?”

 

Castiel bites on his cheek to keep from responding. There’s nothing he can say to refute Lucifer’s statements, nothing that will dismantle the truths upon which they are founded.

 

“Your task was to keep the Righteous Man safe, and you, my brother, have failed spectacularly,” Lucifer drones on, his grin infuriatingly condescending. “In fact, you’re responsible for everything that’s gone wrong. If you’d helped him sooner, Dean probably would have stopped Sam from killing Lilith. The only reason he’s even _here_ is because of the mess _you_ created.”

 

Castiel nearly breaks the bones in his hands with how tightly he clenches his fists. The shame he feels is a tangible weight on his shoulders, one he will always have to carry. He closes his eyes and covers his ears. “You’re just a voice in my head,” he croaks, the sound of it small and pathetic.

 

Lucifer’s smile grows bigger.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t hallucinate when he’s fighting, which is a small measure of comfort. It also means Castiel puts significantly less effort into remaining hidden, and spends a lot more time deliberately hunting monsters. The Leviathan are ruthless and all but impossible to defeat, but there is always the possibility he will escape unscathed, small as it may be. The same cannot be said about Castiel’s battle with his own psyche.

 

Two of the Leviathan find Castiel while he’s recovering from a previous attack. He manages to kill one and escape the other, though not before the creature impales his stomach. Though his powers are intact, they’re somewhat weaker in this dimension, and the flesh is slow to knit itself back together. When he finally finds a secure location to rest in, his remaining energy is channeled into hiding himself, slowing down the healing process even further. Slumped against a dying tree, Castiel can do nothing but wait for the pain to pass, drifting in and out of consciousness.

 

“You know, I never realized how alike we are.” Lucifer’s voice is familiar at this point, always pitched with the same arrogance and carrying the same measure of verity. “It’s a shame we’re on different planes of existence at the moment. I mean, I could use the company. Hell is sort of dreadfully boring, and darling Michael is poor company.”

 

“I am nothing like you,” Castiel says, but it’s a poor attempt at a counterargument. At this point, he’s only trying to convince himself.

 

“Oh? I don’t know about that,” Lucifer muses, finger tapping his chin. “I mean, we both ignited a revolution, wanted to rule Heaven, and murdered hundreds of our kin. Seems we have plenty of common ground to me.”

 

Castiel grunts in pain and clutches at his stomach, but says nothing else.

 

“Not in the mood to talk, huh?” The words are so soft-spoken that Castiel dares hope Lucifer might let him be, just for a little while.  The words that follow are spoken through a gut-wrenchingly familiar voice. “Perhaps you’d be more amenable to chat when I’m in this form?

 

When Castiel dares to look up, it’s Dean who’s standing in front of him. His throat closes up at the sight, heart hammering against his rib cage.

 

“ _Dean_.” The name escapes without permission, and Castiel can’t hide the note of longing it carries. It’s _not_ Dean, he knows, but it’s been so long that Castiel lets himself indulge. It looks and sounds like Dean, and for now maybe that can be enough.

 

“Cas,” Dean says, crouching down to Castiel’s level. His hand is warm when it cups Castiel’s jaw, thumb soft as it traces his mouth and tugs on his bottom lip. Castiel burrows into the touch with a sigh. Dean’s other hand travels down his sternum, sliding down until it reaches Castiel’s injured abdomen. He moves Castiel’s filthy coat out of the way, just enough for his fingers to brush the torn flesh. Castiel recoils at the unexpected touch, sweat gathering on his brow.

 

“This is what you deserve, Cas,” Dean says around a smile, still tracing Castiel’s bloodied stomach. “This is where you belong, in this land of monsters.” Dean’s face is close, his lips nearly brushing against Castiel’s when he speaks. “Only a monster is capable of the things you’ve done, the damage you’ve caused.”

 

It’s a simple statement of fact, Castiel knows; one that is irrevocably true. Were he anything other than a coward, he would look Dean in the eye, withstand the justified anger that’s directed at him. As it is, he’s incapable of confronting the disgusted expression on Dean’s face, and he closes his eyes.

 

“But _I_ don’t belong here, and it’s your fault I’m here,” Dean continues, and Castiel aches in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries. “You betrayed me. I could have forgiven you for that, maybe, but then you betrayed Sam.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel breathes out, expelling whatever energy he had left along with the words. He’s too tired to pretend his mistakes don’t weigh down on him like a saddle of bricks on a human body. “I—Dean, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, Cas,” Dean’s hand jerks his chin, prompting Castiel to open his eyes. “You’re just playing sorry.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything is filthy in Purgatory.  It doesn’t seem to matter how much time Castiel spends by the riverbank, scrubbing his skin; a thin layer of grime perpetually dusts his face, and the dirt under his fingernails is impossible to get rid of.

 

“Have you ever considered,” Lucifer says somewhere to his right, his voice cheery, “That it’s _you_ who’s filthy? All that red on your hands is bound to stain.”

 

Castiel grinds his teeth and makes no comment. For the most part, he tries not to respond to Lucifer’s jabs, verbally or physically. It’s only bait, after all, and Castiel can rise above it. The more he keeps private, the better.

 

The sound of laughter, shallow and derisive, jolts Castiel, and he only barely stops himself from turning to look in Lucifer’s direction.

 

Voice coloured with amusement, Lucifer says, “You do realize you can’t hide anything from me, don’t you? It’s as you said, Castiel: I’m a voice in your head. I know what you’re thinking because I _am_ what you’re thinking.”

 

The nausea that grips Castiel is unlike anything he’s ever felt, intense and burning in his gut. He feels so absurdly human, small and powerless, up against a battle he cannot hope to win. No matter how much he ignores him, how resolutely he shuts his eyes and covers his ears, Lucifer won’t be going away. Castiel’s guilt will not fade and his mind will not heal. He has no control, no strength to fight for something he does not deserve.

 

“Death is looking like a fine option at the moment, isn’t it?” Castiel doesn’t bother denying it; there’s no one to believe the lie, anyway. Death would not be hard to achieve; every monster—creature, Castiel is the only real monster in this place—is itching to get ahold of him. Perhaps it’s time he gave them what they’re after. “Be that as it may, you do not deserve the mercy death offers, Castiel.”

 

When Castiel pulls his hands out of the water, they’re a dark, dark red.

 

“You’re exactly where you belong,” the words are spoken directly into Castiel’s ear, and his body locks up in response. “You cannot hope for penance, Castiel, but an eternity in this place is a start.”

 

After that, there’s silence. It’s almost peaceful, listening to the stream of the river, the rustling of leaves in the forest. Of course, it doesn’t last long.

 

“Cas!”

 

Castiel sighs at the sound of Dean’s voice, suddenly exhausted. It’s one thing to be reminded of his own actions and mistakes, but quite another to be faced with the man he’s disappointed most of all. The knowledge he isn’t real does little to make facing him easier.

 

“Cas!” Dean’s voice is urgent now, louder, and Castiel can’t help turning around to find its source. Dean is walking toward him, a blade in his hand and a vampire by his side. Castiel gets up from his crouched position, trying to decipher if any of this is real. Before he can reach a conclusion, Dean is pulling him in, wrapping his arms around him and laughing in his ear. “Damn, it’s good to see you!” When he pulls back, he brushes Castiel’s cheek. “Nice peach fuzz.”

 

Only then does it occur to him that it really is _Dean_ ; his Dean, not a twisted hallucination created by his starved and longing mind. Castiel nearly sags with relief at the confirmation that his friend is still alive and unharmed. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he has last seen Dean, but it feels like an eternity. It’s selfish and weak, but Castiel can’t help but be thankful for the opportunity to reunite with his friend. Dean had looked for him, tirelessly and relentlessly, and Dean has _found_ him.

 

The vampire—Benny, Dean says his name is—eyes Castiel warily when they’re introduced, assessing. Castiel can tell he doesn’t trust him, and really, it’s a two-way street. It also serves to remind him that Dean is unsafe due to Castiel’s mere presence, that he needs to get him far, far away.

 

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, his eyes concerned as he studies Castiel. Of course, there’s more to the question than the obvious, and Castiel reads between the spaces.

 

“I’m perfectly sane,” he assures before he can think better of it. For a moment, with Dean by his side, he can even allow himself to believe it to be true. It’s then that Lucifer breathes in his ear, hooking his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. It takes an immense amount of control to stop himself from flinching.

 

“Telling lies again, Castiel?” Lucifer asks sweetly. “I guess you really haven’t learned your lesson.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Despite what Dean seems to think, Castiel is not getting out of Purgatory. He knows this with absolute certainty. There is, of course, the issue of whether an angel can even escape through the portal; as Benny points out, it’s highly improbable. Even if they find a way around it, Castiel has no intention of passing through and leaving this wasteland. He’s going to stay where he belongs.

 

After all these years, Castiel knows Dean, and knows the extent of his stubbornness. When he says he won’t leave without Castiel, he believes him—which means he’s going to have to go along with Dean’s plan, only to make him leave without Castiel at the very last minute. It’s deceitful, but Castiel has resigned himself to being a liar.

 

“We are never going to make it out of here with him glowing like a beacon next to us,” Benny is saying as they’re walking through the forest, exhausted from fighting off a horde of monsters. “Dean, we’re already done for! He’s going to get us all killed!”

 

Castiel is inclined to agree with this assessment, but Dean is unwilling to listen to reason. There’s a shift in the air, one Castiel is all too familiar with, a warning he feels ringing all the way down to his vessel’s bones.

 

“We may get to test that theory,” he informs, looking around in an attempt to predict the imminent attack. “Leviathan are near. _Run_.”

 

One materializes in front of Castiel, quick and ruthless. There is more than one, Castiel knows, and he turns around to check on Dean, just in time to see him swinging his blade, cutting off the creature’s head. The moment of distraction is not without a price, and in a second Castiel is on the ground, flat on his back with the Leviathan standing over him. It’s Lucifer’s face Castiel sees, lips stretching in a lopsided smile.

 

“Just let it happen, Castiel,” he says, and then the Leviathan opens its jaw, exposing its sharp teeth. As Castiel prepares for death, he only hopes it’s going to buy Dean and Benny enough time to escape.

 

A quick flash of metal catches Castiel’s eye, and the Leviathan’s head rolls to the ground, landing over Castiel’s body. Benny is standing above him, panting, his own blade dripping with blood. Caught off guard, Castiel only stares until the vampire extends a hand to help him up.

 

“Cas!” As soon as he’s on his feet, Dean is next to him, patting him down. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Dean,” he assures, catching Benny’s eye and giving him a small nod in thanks.

 

“Good,” Dean says, his shoulders squaring. He’s about to go on the offensive. “What the hell _was_ that?” he demands, his voice angry. “You didn’t even try to fight that bastard off!”

 

“There are more where they came from, Dean,” Castiel responds calmly. “And they’re all coming after me. You’re not safe with me around.”

 

Dean’s fists clench by his side. “We are not having this fucking discussion again!”

 

“It’s not a discussion, Dean. It’s a statement of fact.”

 

Heaving a sigh, Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Benny, give us a moment?”

 

Benny looks between the two of them, his expression inscrutable. “Sure,” he finally agrees. “I’m not into melodrama, anyway. I won’t be far—come find me when you’re done your little lovers spat.” With that, he walks away, disappearing into the woods.

 

“What the hell’s going on, Cas?” Dean demands. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Lucifer leaning against a tree, smirking.

 

“You do realize Benny’s assessment is correct, don’t you?” Castiel argues. “I’m a liability. You stand a far greater chance of escaping this place if you leave me behind.”

 

Dean’s jaw tenses, his eyes hardening. “I don’t care what Benny says,” he growls, “and I don’t care what our _chances_ are. I told you, Cas, I’m not leaving here without you. End of.”

 

Castiel sighs. Dean is an immovable force when he gets like this, but he has to try. “I lied to you,” he confesses, meeting Dean’s eyes. His shoulders square before they drop, the expression on his face blank as his body locks up. It’s a mask, and Castiel is able to see right through it, can recognize the hurt in the furrow between Dean’s brows, the lines under his eyes. “I’m not okay, Dean.”

 

Hurt gives way to confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m hallucinating,” he says, the words bitter on his tongue. “I’ve been hallucinating since we got here. I—Dean, I have no grasp on reality. I don’t even know if we’re having this conversation, or if this is in my head.”

 

“I’m real, this is real,” Dean says, the words fierce and urgent. He puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing it, and Castiel nearly crumples under the weight. There’s a long stretch of silence, both of them struggling for what to say next. “Dammit, Cas. You should have told me sooner. You should have… you should have told me.”

 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a sentence he’s been saying a lot lately, and the words seem so insignificant. The human language is so inadequate for conveying all that Castiel wishes he could say to Dean.

 

“Look,” Dean’s thumb hooks under Castiel’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes, “We’ll fix this, okay? I promise you that. When we get home, we find a way to fix you.”

 

“This can’t be fixed, Dean.”

 

“We’ll find a way!” It’s almost a shout, angry and desperate, said for Dean’s benefit as much as Castiel’s. “We always do. In the meantime, I need you to get on board so we can blow this popsicle stand, all right?”

 

Having gotten this far, Castiel makes the decision to lay all of his cards on the table. Honesty is the only strategy he has yet to try. “I can’t leave here, Dean,” he says. “This is where I belong.”

 

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean grabs the lapels of Castiel’s coat, pulling him forward until they’re impossibly close, knees bumping together, Dean’s elbows pressing against Castiel’s ribs. The expression on Dean’s face is furious, his mouth set in a grim line and his eyes heated. “I’ve fucking had it with your bullshit guilt! You don’t think you deserve to be saved? Fine. I can’t convince you otherwise if you don’t want to hear it. So how about this: I _need_ you. Do you get that? _I_ need you and I’m not losing you again!”

 

In an instant, Dean’s features turn from angry to scared, his resolve crumpling. “I just got you back,” he whispers, his voice wavering. “Don’t make me lose you again.” He rests his head in the crook between Castiel’s neck and shoulder, burrowing into the flesh. Stunned, Castiel can do nothing but run a hand through Dean’s hair. The fists on his coat pull tighter, desperate to hang on. “I—I can’t… don’t make me lose you, Cas. _Please._ ”

 

Castiel wraps his free arm around the small of Dean’s back. There is nothing he aches for more than Dean’s forgiveness, his friendship, but he knows he doesn’t deserve it. It takes him a long moment to speak, and when he does, the words feel like lead on his tongue. “You won’t lose me, Dean.”

 

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, wishes he could explain it all to Dean, that he could be worthy of the trust he’s always placed in him. _I’m sorry I have to lie to you again._

 

 

 


End file.
